


Talents

by believesinponds



Series: Domestic Bliss [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (or at least as close to it as these two can get), Domestic Fluff, Husbands, M/M, len in glasses, mick cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 08:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/believesinponds/pseuds/believesinponds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mick and Len are literally an old married couple, complete with idle discussions about gas prices and knowing how the other likes his toast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talents

**Author's Note:**

> I am convinced this is canon.

“Mick.”

The tone was warning. Mick sighed and turned down the gas on the stove, watching the lovely blue flame shrink to a more reasonable size for cooking.

“I wasn’t going to do anything.” Mick knew he sounded a little petulant but he didn’t care. Len didn’t have to scold him every goddamn time he lit a flame.

“Mmhmm,” Len said, rolling his eyes behind his stupid (cute) black-rimmed reading glasses and taking a sip of his steaming hot coffee. (Mick loved teasing him about it. “What, don’t want your java _ice cold_?” These days Len didn’t even glare anymore, just sighed and went back to reading the paper.)

Mick dropped a dollop of coconut oil in the pan and leaned closer to watch it melt.

“ _Mick_.”

“Dammit, Snart, I’m not doing anything!” Mick was shouting now, angry because seriously he was just trying to cook the man a damn _meal_ and--

And Len was smirking at him.

Great.

“I hate you,” Mick muttered, turning back to the stove and finding (to his disappointment) that the oil was already completely melted. He sighed again and cracked the eggs into the pan, covering it immediately with a glass lid. The toaster popped up two perfectly-browned pieces of bread and Mick grabbed them out quickly, sucking a loud breath in through his nose and grinning at the way they _almost_ burned his fingers, but not quite.

“Just butter on mine,” Len said, turning idly to the next page in the business section.

“I know.” Mick spread the butter on quickly--Len liked it when the stuff was melted completely into the bread--and set each piece on a plate. He took the piece with a few specks of unmelted butter and added orange marmalade to it.

“Looks like gas prices have gone up,” Len said. His eyes were still on the paper, no doubt scanning through a massive wall of business statistics.

“Hmm,” Mick grunted. (How else are you supposed to respond to a comment like that, anyway?) He noticed that the eggs were developing a white sheen and he pulled the lid off, sliding two

onto Len’s plate and one onto his. “Any good prospects?” he asked as he rolled the last of leftover sausages from this weekend’s Rogues Brunch into the pan to heat up.

“Jewelry store on 8th is having a big clearance sale. Probably getting a shipment of new inventory soon.”

“Doesn’t sound all that promising.” He pushed the row of sausages over, making sure each one was heated through. Nobody liked half-cold sausages, not even the Captain himself.

“Not really. A small job for a small store. Maybe some of the new kids can give it a go.”

Mick snorted. “You know the speedster will catch them if they go it alone.”

He glanced up from the sausages (which were just about ready, according to the warmth on his fingertip from testing one of them) and saw that Len was grinning, staring at him over his glasses. “Exactly.”

Mick couldn’t help it--he let out a loud guffaw and shook his head. As he rolled the meat onto each of their plates (divided evenly because they really _would_ fight over the last sausage and that would be too much violence for a Thursday morning) he said, “You keep testin’ ‘em like that and we aren’t going to have any Rogues left at all, Lenny.”

“If they can’t hold their own against The Flash then they aren’t worth my time, Mick.”

Mick chuckled and grabbed two forks out of the silverware drawer. He balanced both plates on one arm and used the other to grab the carafe of fresh squeezed orange juice out of the fridge. Len had already set two glasses on the table along with a couple cloth napkins and a little vase of fresh flowers from their garden. Mick placed the juice next to the flowers and waited for Len to fold up his paper before laying the plate with the butter-only toast in front of him.

“Thanks, Mick,” Len said, shaking salt and pepper over his eggs before digging precisely into the egg and taking a bite. He closed his eyes and hummed appreciatively. “You make the best over-easy, Mick.”

He nudged Len’s foot under the table and smiled, stabbing a piece of sausage and ripping off a large bite. “I do try.”

Len’s eyes were open again and they were glinting with mischief. “It’s one of your few real talents.”

Mick kicked him a little harder, his smile morphing into a smirk. “Hey. I have _lots_ of talents. Some of which you might enjoy more often, _Lenny_ , if you weren’t such an ass.”

“Hmm.” Len licked his lips, eyes never leaving Mick’s. “I think my _ass_ is particularly relevant to those talents, _Mickey_.”

He huffed out a laugh and nodded his head. “Now that’s a fair point.” He tore a vicious bite out of his toast, the marmalade sweet on his tongue. “You win this time, Snart.” He jabbed the corner of his toast toward Len to emphasize his point. “But don’t expect to experience any of those talents _tonight_ if you keep antagonizing me.”

Len sighed a little too dramatically and said, “That _would_ be a shame.” But then something in his gaze softened and Mick felt Len’s toes wiggling against his ankle. “Thank you for breakfast, Mick.”

Mick grunted and rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond. “Just eat your damn eggs, Lenny.”

(Later that night Len enjoyed every minute of Mick’s _talents_.)


End file.
